Majesty
by Liv Tinuviel
Summary: At a park, when the sun is setting in late summer, a boy encounters a greatness he knows he will never attain. Slight crossover. Reflective.


_Late Summer, 1940_

Children were scattered around the park, screeching joyfully as they played games only the participants themselves could fully understand. A dark haired boy sat on a swing, his long fingers curled around the chains, dark eyes narrowed scornfully as he watched the other children. The boy could not have been older than twelve or thirteen, and such an expression of contempt was shocking on the young, potentially handsome face. He wore a green sweater, despite the day's heat, and sat carefully so as not to get his black shoes dusty. A woman in grey walked up to him and spoke, his face instantly smoothing into a polite – charming, even – expression as he answered her. Shaking her head and laughing at his response, she walked away; satisfied that he was not upset at being excluded from the other children's games.

Turning his eyes back on the children, he took comfort in the fact that he would be returning to school soon. Returning to school, where he was praised as utterly charming and one of the brightest in his year (if not _the_ brightest). Where his academic superiority was acknowledged openly by teachers and his social superiority was enforced by his loyal followers. Not to say that he wasn't superior to his current company – no, they were simple, ordinary children, destined for lives wholly devoid of magic or greatness. Allowing his mouth to turn up in a smug smile for the briefest of moments, the boy consoled himself with the knowledge that none of the trite children here were as special, as unique as he was himself. Standing, and beginning to walk around the park, the boy silently promised himself that one day he would be the greatest, most powerful man in all of England, in all the World.

His plans were interrupted when he caught sight of a small group of children sitting quietly on a blanket, somewhat removed from the knot of bustling children. There were four of them: two boys and two girls. He watched them, fascinated, and did not understand why he could not look away. The girls were pretty, especially the elder, but that should not have been enough to focus the boy's attention on the four so completely. He fell to examining them as they sat speaking quietly – a laugh here, a sigh there – trying to determine what it was about them that commanded his attention so thoroughly.

Allowing his eyes to focus on the elder girl he grudgingly acknowledged that she was pretty. Nothing spectacular, of course (at least not yet, she looked to be no older than he, if that). She was fair, even now, when the summer sun ought to have left a kiss of golden color on her pale face. She had dark hair, as dark as the boy's own, and bright blue eyes. She sat with her back curiously straight, her hands folded in her lap, until she gestured gently to one of the boys, who sat lounging against a tree. His formerly solemn expression contorted as he rolled his eyes, as dark as the observer's own, at her and slouched lower on the tree. He looked to be related to the pretty girl, his pale face and dark hair a match to hers – a brother maybe? He was small, perhaps nine or ten, but did not fidget as even the best behaved boys are wont to do when forced to remain stationary too long.

A shout of laughter, and a tiny, smiling red haired girl launched herself onto the other boy, who lay on his back, eyes closed to the sun. The boy sat up (opening his eyes, bluer even than the girl's), his golden hair flashing as he pulled the little girl into his lap and began to tickle her, both managing to maintain a regal dignity, even as they tussled. She laughed – a high, chiming sound – and soon all four were laughing with her. It was a musical sound, the four of them laughing together: pleasant, golden even. The boy watching despised them for it.

With a glance at the setting sun, the dark haired girl spoke, softly, and stood with a grace she seemed far too young to possess. The other girl, the exuberant one, bounced out of the golden boy's lap as he gained his feet and offered a hand to the dark boy, who accepted the offer and, with the former's help, heaved himself away from the tree. Suddenly – there! – he saw it. He saw the raw power emanating from the four of them, as they stood in a row for barely a moment: dark boy, golden boy, pretty girl, smiling girl. The image shattered as the littler girl threw herself at the bigger boy, who caught her, and then maneuvered her around until she settled on his back. Laughing, the pretty girl gathered the blanket, and the four walked away.

The boy watched them leave, furious to have found such tangible greatness in such a pathetic setting. What was this park, to host such four such clearly majestic children? More importantly, who were these children that stood out so in the dusk of summer? Why, even the boy himself did not give off such a strong aura of magnificence, and he was descended from and destined for greatness. Who were they, to seem superior to he? To be more extraordinary than he? He did not know them, had never seen them at school, which made it highly unlikely that they had ever been even touched by the magic he could wield so expertly. For a moment, the boy was afraid of the power he felt in the four children. Then, in the distance, he heard his name called (coarse, common name that it was, he would soon leave it behind forever), and, with a final glare at the tree that had sheltered the four, he shoved the fear aside and spun on his heel to rejoin his fellows.

****

He never saw the four at that park again, or indeed, anywhere else. He also never encountered glory to such a degree again, not even in himself, after he completed his transformations. Not even in the one he feared, not even in the one who defeated him. He convinced himself, almost, that the brilliance of the four children had been nothing at all, a trick of the setting sun, and laughed at the thought of a greatness more terrifying than his own. During the darkest hours of his existence, however, he wondered at the glory of the four children he had seen so long ago, and wished, in some remote, _desperate_ corner of his mangled soul, that he could attain the splendor they had innately possessed (knowing however, that theirs was a radiant, sun-filled glory, while he commanded only fear and shadows).

****

**A/N: **Let's play "who can guess the crossover?"! Honestly, though, I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'd really appreciate even just one word telling me if you liked it, or hated it, or thought it was confusing and that I need to be committed somewhere. Thanks! ~LIV


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